Page 71 of Everything Under the Sun

“Good,” I said with a nod, and looked away. “You’ll have to show just how great soon—there’s nothing left in our bags to eat.”

The reality of that fact stole the good mood from our faces. I gazed up at the drafty ceiling again, and was quiet for a long time, thinking about food.

“I’ll catch us some fish,” Thais said after a moment.

“And I’ll hunt some meat,” I added.

The clouds drifted past the moon, dimming what little light the barn borrowed from it. It was so quiet—too quiet. I was used to the bustling life of Lexington City, the chaos and the greed and the occasional sound of gunfire. But I could get used to this, I thought. I could get used to this…

The soft sound of Thais’ breath as she slept next to me was calming in my ears. She lay on her side with her back to me, her arms pressed against her chest, caged by her drawn knees. Her dress had come loose, just shy of revealing her panties; I took my jacket and draped it over her.

After an hour of fighting against it, I lost my battle with sleep and fell into darkness unaccompanied by dreams.

25

ATTICUS

“Hello?” a voice called out.

Barely conscious of it, I stirred in my sleep.

“Hey you,” came the voice again. “Ahem.”

Realization flooded me like water rushing through a dam, and I shot bolt upright into the realm of awareness; the gun I had been sleeping on was in my hand as if by magic.

“Get back!” I roared, pointing the gun at the man and woman who stood over Thais and me.

THAIS & (ATTICUS)

I woke with a start; my eyes sprang open to sporadic beams of sunshine. I scrambled upright next to Atticus and he pulled me close. The man and woman took a few steps back, their hands raised out in front of them in surrender. The strange smiles on their faces set my nerves on edge.

“We’re not gonna hurt ya,” the woman said; long, disheveled gray-blonde hair lay over her shoulders. “Not ‘less ya try to hurt us.”

“You’re on our land,” the man chimed in, hands raised. “And this ‘ere is our barn.” He wore a blue plaid button-up shirt and a pair of blue jeans. His hair was pushed back over a receding hairline in an oily series of waves.

Atticus made a movement with the gun toward the couple; they walked backwards a few more unsteady steps.

“L-Look, we’ ain’t ‘ere to do ya’s no harm,” the woman insisted. “If ya wanna leave, ya can go, but we thought ya might wanna stay for a while.” She pointed toward the wide-open barn door; sunlight spilled into the area. “We got breakfast cookin’ on the stove—”

“What do you mean, breakfast?” Atticus cut in, suspiciously; he took two bold steps forward. “What exactly are you cooking?”

The man and woman looked at each other.

“Chicken and gravy mostly,” the woman said with an air of confusion. “What do ya’ mean?”

I stood behind Atticus, my fingers clasped nervously around the fabric of his shirt.

“We live on a farm,” the man said, and pointed toward the door. “We raise chickens and even have a milk cow. My sister ‘ere”—he glanced at the woman—“has a garden back of the house; she grows all sorts of vegetables. And we got a small pond, jus’ up that way”—he pointed to his left—“on our land ‘ere, where we catch fish and sometimes get a duck or two. But I think the ducks are gettin’ smart—they don’ come ‘round so much no more.”

“Who are you?” Atticus demanded. (I really didn’t care about their farm or their land or their ducks; I wanted to know why I shouldn’t kill them.)

I stepped from behind Atticus and came around to his side. He pushed me back with his arm.

“I’m David Doakes,” the man introduced. “And this ‘ere is Emily Bass. Like I said, she’s my sister. Was married to James Bass for a while, ‘til The Fever took ‘im—best thing that ever happened to my sister, if ya wanna know how I feel ‘bout it.”

Emily shot him with a glare. He ignored her. They seemed accustomed to quarrel.

My eyes darted back and forth between the couple and the wide-open barn door. I was expecting more people, maybe armed with guns or machetes, to come storming in any second now.

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